


Eyes Wide Open, Arms Outstretched

by WantsUnicorns



Series: Lullaby Verse [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bloodplay, Bondage, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Serious Injuries, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:57:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WantsUnicorns/pseuds/WantsUnicorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Eat The Sorrow, Lick The Spark".</p>
<p>It’s several years after they escaped the chamber and life is different in this new world - sometimes it’s hard to remember what being alive feels like. The choices they had to make over the years have changed them all and then there's the thing that happened in the cryo-chamber that Scorpius never told anyone about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes Wide Open, Arms Outstretched

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kiss and Kristy for the beta and the cheerleading! <3
> 
> As I said with the fic I wrote prior to this, I very much enjoyed playing in this universe and will do it again. I enjoyed looking at Albus and Scorpius in their new environment and how living in a world as dangerous as theirs has changed them and their relationship.  
> One more thing, the song “Eyes Wide Open” by Gotye, was essential in me writing this, it not only gave me the idea for the title and the ending, the video and the mood of the song helped me to create this post-zombie-apocalyptic world and breathe life into it. I cannot recommend watching it/listening to it highly enough

I watch him twist and turn as he slices and lunges at them. It looks like a beautiful dance of death and destruction. We are both well versed in it. He’s a creature of unequalled grace. It’s at moments like this that I know how lucky I am. I don’t even need to interfere. We’ve fought side by side for the longest time and only moments ago it was me beside him cutting and hewing. The battle is almost over. I always have his back. We can never be sure there aren’t more coming, but I get to watch him fight and when he fights, he is beautiful.

He dips and thrusts one more time, neatly decapitating the last infected standing, or rather crawling. He turns to me then, his chest heaving, sweat glistening on his brow and grinning that stupidly adorable grin of his. I just want to grab him then, mark him, devour him and make him mine. I want to run my hands along that heaving chest and want the reason he’s wet with perspiration to be because of what I’m doing to him.

However now is not the time for pleasure and I make a conscious effort to shove the idea to the back of my mind. I fix the image of him standing there, in all his glory, his cheeks red from exertion, his eyes sparkling with mirth and a fierce kind of possessive joy that I will savour later, in my memory. My feet carry me over to him, wand still drawn but my sword already secured across my back. We cast _scourgify_ on ourselves and our gear. We can’t be too careful with all the blood around us. The tiniest drop can mean a slow and painful end. These aren’t the infected we have an uneasy truce with; these are the truly dangerous ones.

There’s no time to ponder this either; lately there hasn’t been time to ponder much of anything. Al sheathes his sword and slaps my shoulder companionably. We start walking to the high wired barrier of electrical fences surrounding an average-sized Muggle city. It’s time to do what we came here to do. One of our spells has been triggered. As much as we appreciate certain parts of it, this is not a sport to us. It’s a rescue mission.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

His precome is bitter on my tongue. Al is moaning and writhing on the bed. I love hearing his ragged breathing and how he’s trying not to push into my mouth too roughly. I know he’ll eventually be unable to hold back, his hands will tangle in my hair, keeping my head in place as he groans and thrusts with abandon. He’ll come down my throat and my voice will be raspy for the next few hours. I love it when he comes completely undone; it’s almost violent at times. There are no more pleases and thank yous. Al doesn’t beg, he demands. He takes what he needs, when he needs it and I’m only too glad to give it to him.

I press my tongue against the thick vein at the underside of his cock and I can hear a hitch in his voice as he chants my name--intermingled with harsh breaths and swear words.

“Oh fuck, yes, take it deeper! Yes, Yes! Just like that! You are so good at this.” He praises me.

I can tell that he’s close; his hand is tightening on the back of my head. He’s trying not to tear on my hair, but he knows I like it when he gets rough as he loses control. I hum around his cock, teasing him intentionally, as I roll his balls in my hand. I tug only once and I can feel him letting go of the last shreds of his already strained control.

He’s tearing my hair out by the root, making me moan around his cock. His movement becomes frantic as he is pushing into my mouth. His hips snap up at a desperate pace and I relax my throat, taking him in to his root. My nose is nestled in his pubic hair. I inhale deeply, moaning as he takes me. It’s not long before his thrusts become erratic. 

This right here is what I live for. Al giving in to complete abandon, fucking my mouth, making me the centre of his universe, just like he is mine. His musky scent pervades my nose as he stills, spilling his seed down my ready and waiting throat.

I swallow deeply once, twice and then Al falls back to the mattress, his limp cock still glistening with my saliva. I crawl up on all fours, lying down beside him. This would be the perfect time to say it, to reaffirm what we both feel. There’s no need to speak out loud. Every time we come out of battle unscathed, every time I look into his eyes, it’s right there for me to see, that he is mine as much as I am his.

Al reaches for my cock which is still pointing away from my pelvis. The tip is wet with precome and he gives it a harsh tug. He kisses me, biting my lower lip and soothing the ache with his tongue. His grip on my cock is sure and his hand slides up and down it unhesitatingly. He twists at the end with each upstroke, just how I like it. Every moan, every tiny hitch of my breath is swallowed up in Al’s greedy kisses. It feels like he’s trying to absorb my very being and I wouldn’t even mind if it were true.

His free hand moves up to squeeze my left nipple, scratching the skin and rolling the hard nub until it’s warm and red between his fingers. I can’t stop myself from arching into his touch and his hand speeds up. He can tell I’m close. I’ve been close ever since I licked the first warm stripe up his penis minutes earlier. Warmth begins to pool in the pit of my stomach, Al’s hand has left my peaked nipple and been travelling further down. He pushes a single digit into me, just one and I come with a hoarse cry, tearing our mouths apart. My cock is jerking, my hips pushing forward as my abdominal muscles contract. Pearly white streams of come spray over both my stomach and his.

Al raises his come covered hand to his face. He holds my eyes and leans forward, sucking and licking the come off his fingers. That sight alone causes my cock to release another dribble of semen and I can feel my arsehole twitch around the single finger still inside me.

Once he’s licked his hand clean, Al casts a cleaning spell on us both. We are not done for the night --not by a long shot, but for now, we sleep.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

The girl could have been no older than perhaps ten or twelve. Her clothes and face are clean. There’s a small suitcase beside her. We know that we’ll find a note in her pocket, written by some desperate parent, begging us to take her with us and keep her safe. The look of terror on her face is too familiar, too common these days. The teddy bear she’s clutching to her chest is in danger of having its filling pushed out of its seams by the sheer force of her grip.

The Muggle government has taken to removing at-risk groups of inhabitants from their midst. Magic, the Muggles concluded, was the common element in infection and they’ve made it illegal to be magical and reside within the limits of their cities. Anyone magical, no matter how old, is immediately found guilty of endangering the peace and abandoned in the dead zone.

Al walks up to her while I secure the perimeter, disillusioning the three of us from both Muggles and the infected. We don’t have much time and while I’m just as well-spoken as Al, he says I tend to spook the children. Al has been teasing me about this for the longest time; doesn’t mean he isn’t right. 

It’s probably because of my eyes. The draught our parents used to put me to sleep more than eighty years ago was mostly experimental. And while it’s responsible for my ability to sense the infected when they get close, it also gradually changed the colour of my eyes. Where the iris used to be a pale grey like my father’s, it has grown lighter over the years. We don’t have many mirrors, so I don’t get to see my face very often. When I do I sometimes lean in closer, inspecting my reflection and trying to make out how far it has spread since I last looked.

The girl is crying with fear now, shrinking away from Al’s touch. While he hides it well, I know it makes him furious. What kind of society even allows itself to be called “human” when they abandon their children for something they can’t help? It’s not like one can choose to be magical or not, just like one can’t choose to be gay or straight, or tall or short, or blue-eyed or a colour so light the iris is virtually transparent. 

We don’t differentiate between Muggles and wizards aside from the obvious characterisation of us being magical and them not. All that matters is our survival. Sometimes we find Muggles in the dead-zone; the sane ones are mostly parents looking to be reunited with their children. We take them in and make a home for them with our kind. Some of them don’t stay long, the fear of infection overcoming their longing for their children. Those we equip with what we can spare and bring them back to the cities. I don’t know what happens to them once they show their identification and passed through the check points. They probably have to endure tests and quarantines for months on end, but eventually they’ll go back to their ordinary lives. They’ll have new children and forget they ever had one that didn’t live up to their expectation of the picket fence life they so craved.

Al isn’t getting anywhere with the girl. She won’t tell him where she came from, she won’t tell him her name; she’s just mutely shaking her head while silent tears run down her cheeks with every further inquiry. He knows we are running out of time and changes tactics. We don’t want to stun her when we take her with us. We will only if it becomes strictly necessary. The fate that awaits her if we don’t is far direr. We’ve seen it happen, we don’t have to imagine. 

Luckily the little girl isn’t mute, only terrified. She finally reveals that her teddy’s name is Paul and that he’s afraid of the dark. Al is moving in closer now and this time she’s not shrinking from his touch. 

I can sense them coming and am motioning to Al to hurry up. There are too many for us to fight this time. It won't be long until we’ll be able to see them. It turns out her name is Susanne. She says Paul isn’t sure whether they should go with us, because Paul has been told not to talk to strangers. While she speaks Al is doing a quick infection and magical core check. Susanne doesn’t notice the small green sphere appearing over her head and winking out of existence barely a second after. She’s clean. The little girl doesn’t dare meet Al’s eyes but even I can tell that she doesn’t want us to leave her here by herself.

The wind picks up speed, stirring up small clouds of dirt and chasing them over the dead grass. The foul odour of death is very distinct now and more of it wafts over to us from the other side of the hills. Dark clouds are slowly creeping towards us across the sky, the storm foreshadowing what follows in its wake. The mindless howl carries well over the distance. I can see the first of them cresting the nearest hill. I know how wicked fast they are once they’ve picked up a scent. They must have followed the pull of the uncontained and uncontrolled magic of a terrified child for miles, much like a shark that senses a single drop of blood from a wounded animal from oceans away.

They’ll be here quicker than even I anticipate. I can’t be sure and too frequently get it wrong. I widen my stance and draw my sword, changing my wand into my left hand. It’s attached to the wrist by a piece of string. Wands are hard to come by these days and I don’t want to lose mine in battle. I know that if they catch up to us this time, we don’t stand a chance. I’ve turned my back on Al and the girl, facing the advancing hordes head on. I cast a quick look over my shoulder; Al is still talking to Susanne. We are disillusioned, but they can still sense us. Somehow they always do.

Al calls my name. It’s too late for me to sheath my sword again, they are almost here. I step backwards carefully, always making sure my footing will hold. He grabs my shoulder painfully, but I can’t turn around again; they are upon us. 

The familiar tug and spin of apparition takes us away. Not far. The greater the distance apparated, the greater the amount of wild magic that gets released. To the infected any kind of wild magic is like a drug. They will cross miles of open country to get to the source; what's more they’ll be able to track it for many, many days. They don’t sleep. They don’t rest. In the end they usually find and devour what drew them in the first place.

We head for the brooms we’ve hidden in the underbrush of a nearby grove. Al is in front of me, shrinking the girl's luggage and pulling her with him as he runs. I have to stop to sheath my sword again, but my wand never once leaves my hand. When I catch up with them, Susanne is crying again. She’s probably about to go into shock. Al tells her to hold on to his front tightly and she does, clinging to him with all her limbs, much like you would see with a wild monkey and its young. 

Even in all this, the howling and moaning growing ever louder behind us, Al flashes me a quick grin full of mirth. I can’t believe the bastard is still having fun! He mounts his broom and kicks off into the air; the wind is tearing at his hair and cloak. Against the dark clouds the small dark dot that’s him is quickly lost to my eyes. I mount my own broom and am about to kick off too, when I get distracted by the sound of rustling and breaking twigs in the underbrush right in front of me. Before I can see what’s there, instinct finally takes over. I grab the handle of my broom and it accelerates, defying gravity. Below me I can barely make out a group of Muggle hunters.

It’s difficult to push my anger down. Now is not the time – it’s never the time – all that matters is for Al and the little girl to get back safely. The hunters shake their fists at me. Something stings my thigh and I accelerate again, flying anywhere but in a straight line to avoid becoming a target. I’m having trouble keeping control of my broom, it’s lurching and bucking and heading anywhere but towards safety. My trousers feel wet and heavy where warm blood is seeping from the wound in my leg into the fabric. They shot me! They actually shot me!

The wind is tearing at me and I’m feeling light-headed. The sky has become so dark that I don’t even know where I’m flying to anymore; if it wasn’t for the steady pull of gravity I wouldn’t be able to make out where the sky ended and solid ground began. I can hear the infected and the Muggles fight in the distance. That sound is my only landmark and I’m trying to head as far away from it as possible. My eyes have trouble focusing and I know I’m not going to make it. I cling to the broom, wishing, praying for it to take me as far away as possible.

Lightning is feeling its way like a blind man’s hand across the sky. If I didn’t know better I’d think it was reaching for me. And what if it was, what would I do then? The blood loss is making it hard for me to concentrate. The oxygen supply to my brain must already be affected. A wall – rising out of nowhere – is blocking my path. I try to swerve around it, but I’ve seen it far too late. The wall seems to span the entire space between heaven and earth. It’s pockmarked with the charred frames of burned out windows. They look at the world like the dark and empty eyes sockets of a decomposing corpse that has played host to nature’s scavengers. All I can do is point my broom towards one of the dark squares hoping I won’t collide with the opposite wall inside the room hard enough to lose consciousness. 

I fly too close to the window frame and tear my coat and the skin at my shoulder. Soot covered glass shards armour the charred wood like teeth. It hurts like hell and I scream and swear. I make it past the windowsill without any further injuries but my luck doesn’t hold out for long. My injured leg – which I can’t even move at this point – gets caught in the molten remains of some cheap plastic furniture that has been twisted beyond recognition by the same fire that claimed the entire building a long time ago. The pain is severe. I can’t hold on to the handle of the broom any longer; I slide off as all strength leaves me. The broom’s steady forward impetus carries it into the far wall. The splintering of wood is the last thing I hear before unconsciousness claims me.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

My arm hurts like hell when I wake. The room is dark, the storm providing the only source of illumination. Lightning flashes by outside with ever growing frequency and soon I can’t tell where the thunder following one ends and the next one begins. My entire body is twisted around the remains of what can only be some kind of bizarre molten designer dinner table. Every limb announces its presence with a renewed wave of pain. I reach for my injured leg and almost pass out again. The bullet must still be lodged in there.

I take several deep breaths through my nose, exhaling through my mouth, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat. When I look for my wand all I can find is a torn bit of string, hanging from my wrist mockingly. Well, Fuck! Still, I always carry a minimum supply of pain potion and other first aid items with me. I fumble for it and realise with resignation that my first aid kit was in the pocket of my left leg, my injured leg to be precise. Without looking I know what my searching fingers will encounter. And yes, there it is, I curse as I cut myself on what is left of a phial of pain potion. I’m so fucked!

Around the camps I never show weakness. I show understanding and strength and I speak to the people of hope and of better times to come. Sometimes I worry that I will forget how to be weak and how to ask for help. Only around Al can I let go, can I allow myself to be less than perfect. He’s the one that keeps me honest. Al never loses hope, he doesn’t resign. I’m his anchor and he is mine. When I despair he keeps me from drowning in it; when he’s upset I make him smile.

Merlin, Al! He must be worried sick about me. Without my wand I can’t even send my Patronus to him for help. I hope he made it back to camp alright; the storm is still raging outside and it’s dangerous even on a calm day. I have to believe that he made it and that I can make it back on my own. Nobody knows where I am, not even the sick fucks who left a little girl out there in the dead zone as bait just so they could hunt the infected for sport. 

Just remembering how frightened she was makes me angry enough to ignore the pain and try and free myself. My trousers are caught on something and I pull, managing to get my uninjured leg free, tearing the fabric and trapping the other one even more firmly in the process. The wound must have re-opened, because I can feel warm blood trickling into my boot. It’s a sickening sensation.

Remembering my rudimentary medical training from the camps, I tear a big stripe of cloth from my already torn trouser leg to create a makeshift bandage. I carefully begin removing the shards of glass from my torn pocket and then from my leg. The shards have penetrated the skin deeply and it’s difficult to remove them without irritating my bullet wound further. Sweat is forming beads on my forehead as I work. It hurts like hell. I end up tearing more cloth from my trouser-leg to make something I can bite down on to keep myself from screaming with pain. My hands begin to shake and blackness is crowding in on the corners of my vision. I need to stop. Slow breaths, I remind myself. 

It’s dark in the room and the lightning become less frequent as the storm slowly moves away taking its dark clouds with it. The moon hasn’t risen yet – not that it’ll be of much use to see by at night; we’ve only just had a new moon a few nights ago. I look at the stars, trying to find constellations my father taught me when I was young. I don’t recognise anything and the moment of peace passes too quickly.

I pass my sleeve across my forehead, because the sweat is starting to sting my eyes. There’s one more shard. By the shape of its outline, it’s the largest the one and wedged in the deepest. I have to remove it before I can start making a compression to stop the blood flow. I bite down hard on the cloth in my mouth holding on to the shard tightly and pulling at it with all my might. It comes free with a sickening squelch. The sound is almost drowned out by my muffled screams of pain. Tears run down my face and I have to close my eyes, because the room is spinning. I feel nauseous and it’s only the deep and calming breaths that prevent me from vomiting all over myself. I can’t believe I’m still conscious.

The shard must have slipped from my hand unnoticed, because I can’t feel it any longer. I feel where it cut the palm of my hand and curse myself for being so careless. When I look out of the window I can see the crescent moon and realise that I lost at least two hours. The trickle of blood down my bootleg has almost slowed to a crawl. I must not even have noticed that I passed out again.

I try to move and am hampered when dizziness overtakes me. I barely manage to turn my head to the side before I’m violently sick. Perfect, now I’m both dehydrated and injured. I spit at the bitter taste of bile on my tongue. I’ve been through a lot in my twenty-seven years but this is definitely among the less pleasant experiences.

I stare out into the night. It’s no use getting angry now. The stars twinkle at me. During any other night I would have appreciated their beauty; now I just feel like they are mocking me with their cheerfulness. My leg is throbbing to the beat of my heart. With my luck it’s probably infected. I’ve stolen enough Muggle rifles from luckless hunters in my time to know that their bullets shatter on impact. Their machinery of war has always been efficient, built to cause as much damage as possible. Their weapons are not dangerous enough to kill the infected. Cutting off their heads is the only way to make sure they don’t rise again. These weapons’ only function is to cause the maximum amount of pain.

They call hunting the infected ‘sport’, but I think it’s revenge. Revenge for the lives they’ve lost, for the futures they can never have; revenge for the fact that it’s the Muggles that are locked up in their cities and the creatures that are allowed to roam free. Hunting them is a way for them to reassert their authority as conqueror of nature. To me their game of hunter and prey is sick and twisted. They say they are fighting evil, but every single hunter I’ve seen is hunting for the sake of killing, for that feeling of power. It’s about triumphing over something that’s out of their league if they set out in too small a number. The infected aren’t evil; they can’t help what they’ve become. Some of them, I would say, are more human than the hunters. 

The Retained is what we call Victoire’s pack. They are able to use some rudimentary magic. They’ve retained part of their human identities and are hunted by Muggles and other infected alike. The truce we have with them can only be called uneasy. It’s hard to trust that they won’t turn on us, especially since they sometimes do, only to remember and regret their deeds later. Those poor buggers. I’m not sure what I would choose, given the choice of infected and empty or infected with a soul and a conscience. 

Whenever I think about what will eventually happen to all of us, I think of Al. For him I’d do anything. I have to get back to him. I can’t just sit here waiting for the infected to find me. I grab at the molten parts that trap my leg and bend them outward. Pain momentarily blinds me and blood is gushing out of the entry-wound again. As luck would have it, the plastic must have worked like a compression bandage on my leg, hiding the seriousness of my injury.

I let go for a second and angrily wipe at the tears streaming down my face. Fuck it all. I take a deep breath and push the plastic apart again. I try to lift my leg out, but I’m already too weak for that. All that’s left for me to try is to drag and slide my leg out over the side. When I’ve almost given up, I manage to release my leg on the fourth try. Don’t ever let anyone tell you “third time’s the charm” - that’s just a load of horse shit!

I drag myself over to the wall to lean against it. I’m probably leaving a big smear of blood on the floor, like some kind of giant snail. My face contorts in disgust and pain. For once I’m glad nobody is here to see that. I bite down on the makeshift gag again, as I apply the compression bandage to my leg. It hurts less than I anticipated, but the pain still makes me gasp enough to spit out the gag by accident. I unroll the gag and wrap the fabric around my leg on top of the bandage.

I close my eyes and count silently to ten and the pain finally subsides to a more bearable level. I can’t walk, I can’t get up and I’m too tired to do anything but stare into the darkness in front of me.

Winter isn’t far off and the nights are growing colder. I wrap my thick cloak around myself in an attempt to preserve what little warmth I have left. With no wand and no way to tell our people where I am, all I can do is wait. Wait for either rescue or death. My eyes grow heavy. I cast a half-hearted wandless warming charm on myself – surprised when it actually works – and surrender to fatigue.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

My dreams are strange and dark. I know that I’m dreaming, because I know that Al saved me from that room. The walls are heavy and thick. Tons of stone stretch in every direction to protect us from our inevitable fate. They are weighing down on me as if I was Atlas holding up the sky on my bare shoulders.

Every night when I go to sleep, I’m scared that what I perceive as reality is just a fantasy my mind has taken refuge in from the terror of being buried alive. I must have lost my mind somewhere during those eighty-six years of paralysed solitude; anyone would have. Maybe my mind is fighting evil in an attempt to free myself. Maybe every infected I slay is just an attempt to fight the monsters that lurk in dark corners of my mind.

I tell everyone who asks that I don’t remember what it felt like, being paralysed and screaming away inside my head, my voice echoing off the walls of my mind. It’s a lie; I remember every minute, every second of it. Part of me has grown old and shrivelled. Sometimes I wonder whether it shows. I’m beautiful, I know that much. My body is barely ten years older than it was when it went into that chamber, but my soul has aged terribly. Does Al see me for who I really am? I’m holding on by barely a thread. I want to feel alive. I take risks no one else would and people think that makes me a hero. I’m constantly running, because I’m afraid that if I stop, the darkness will catch up with me.

In this dream, however, I know that I’m dreaming. Lying awake in that sarcophagus has never felt like this, sort of hazy and unreal. All of us are here, even Victoire. She’s unchanged and looks like she did when I met her in Hogwarts for the first time. Al’s family is here, too, and I feel sudden regret at being an only child. They always look like they were posing for a family photograph when they stand together. I’ve always wanted something like that for myself and for a while I had it with Al. I still feel the pain of breaking up with him. I’ve had more than eighty years to come to terms with my decision and just as many to regret ever having made those demands on him in the first place.

We all begin to play our roles, and I know where this is going. Al has slung his arms around my waist and mine is draped over his shoulder. I’m weak. It has taken all of my energy to cross the short distance between the pensieve and the door to the main chamber. The ground is shaking and suddenly Victoire lunges for us. The headache I’ve felt for who knows how long becomes blinding. There’s but one word inside my head as she approaches and it’s growing ever louder. Danger! 

She grabs Al by the shoulder and drags both of us away from the doorway. I completely lose it. I don’t want her touching him. I push her away from him forcefully. Where I touch her my skin feels as if a thousand beetles are crawling under it. The rage, and with it the strength that came over me, are gone as quickly as they came. I cling to Al and his arms come around me naturally. He feels stiff and unmoving against me. Then I understand; he’s afraid.

Rose approaches us hesitantly and whispers in his ear. I can’t hear what she’s saying, even though my face is snuggled into the crook of Al’s neck. He stiffens even more, but his arms don’t let go of me. I close my eyes and for the first time I’m sure that he’ll still be there when I open them.

The lights go out and everyone is screaming. I’m not scared, I’ve screamed enough over the years to realise there’s no point to it. Al’s scent teases me and I inhale deeply to take in as much as I can. The terrified screams begin to fade, as each is cut off abruptly one by one and still I don’t care. Al is beside me, solid and reassuring; who cares about darkness, when I can feel and smell and touch.

Al’s proximity is intoxicating; I’m drawn in like a moth to a flame. I know that even if it wasn’t too dark to see, my pupils would still be blown wide. My hands tremble as I reach for him, pull him closer and run my tongue up his throat. He shivers and moans under my ministrations, caught in the moment just like me. The room is quiet now, but for the grating sound of shifting stones. The ground beneath us bucks fiercely, toppling us over.

I come to rest on top of Al, unable to let go. I run my nose along his jugular, along his chin and up to that spot of soft hair beneath his ear. When I flick my tongue out to touch it, his breath catches exactly like I remember. I can’t hold back anymore and I bite down on the tender skin of his neck, breaking it. The coppery tang of his blood explodes on my tongue. My nostrils widen as I inhale it, lapping at the wound trapping him beneath my weight. He’s not resisting, he’s arching up into me, as if what I’m doing is the most erotic thing that has ever happened to him. I can feel how hard he is against my thigh.

A dark chuckle escapes me and I lap at the blood greedily. This should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. I rub myself against Al and we both moan helplessly. Around us the room begins to dissolve and before we can go any further, we are taken away by a force beyond our control.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

The sun hasn’t risen yet when I wake, but it’s lighter outside. Or maybe I’ve just grown used to the darkness. I don’t know how much time has passed and I’m having trouble staying focussed. My thoughts move sluggishly. My entire leg is throbbing and feeling too warm. I’m sure that my wound got infected with something. Can’t be the curse, that has never happened so far and I’ve been exposed a fair bit. At least there's the comfort that I can’t ever be turned. Or can I?

If only Al would find me, he always does. Even at night, during my nightmares, he always finds me and brings me back to the reality of his warm embrace.

I wrap my cloak around myself once more; it’s covered in frost and every breath I exhale is visible. I try to sleep again and am right back in the same dream as if I’d never left.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

There’s shouting and crying when we reach our destination. We land on a hard, dirty, wooden floor and its boards dig painfully into my knees. I try to hold on to Al, but we are wrenched apart violently. Someone’s screaming in outrage but I don’t care. I want Al. I try to get back to him but I’m restrained and then stunned.

When I wake they tell me that I’m probably infected. I am in some kind of cell and I can see that Al is in the one next to mine. He’s sitting on a cot, looking the picture of defeat. His elbows rest on his knees and his face is buried in his hands. I run my fingers along my lips when I notice the thick bandage wrapped around his neck. I smile. When I trace my teeth with my tongue I can still taste him.

They talk at me a little while longer, telling me to keep calm and that they’ll supply me with whatever I need. They say I shouldn’t try to escape but what they don’t understand is that I don’t even want to. As long as Al is near, I’ll stay. Al understands perfectly; he always has.

When they finally leave, Al raises his head and looks at me, the expression in his eyes unreadable. I thought he would be upset with me but I am proven wrong when he smiles.

“You are insane!” he says, laughter barely contained.

“I know,” I reply, entirely serious.

“I like it!”

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

I drift in and out of consciousness, not sure where the dream ends and reality begins. The wound has started bleeding through the compression. The smell of decay penetrates my nostrils and I’m not sure whether it’s me or something in the room that’s causing it. I don’t want it to be me. If it is, I’m turning after all.

One desperate thought is replaced by another. If it’s not me, then the infected must be close. I try to move, but something is pressing down on me and I freeze. If I stay still maybe they won’t find me. The scabbard is digging painfully into my back and the urge to shift just the tiniest bit becomes almost overwhelming.

“Fuck!”

My eyelids have grown too heavy for me to open. I’m not even sure I actually heard anything. Something is tugging at me this time and my first instinct is to resist.

“Hold on! Fuck! I can’t stop the bleeding!” The voice is definitely real. “Once you’ve secured the perimeter come over here. I need some help,” it yells.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

The pressure on my leg is suddenly gone and I cry out in pain. A hand alights on my face, stroking it and caressing my lips.

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry.”

The hand is gone and lips press against mine urgently. I kiss back hungrily, but when I reach for him the wound in my hand opens again and I groan in pain instead of pleasure.

“Scorpius, what the fuck happened to you?” Al asks. I know it’s a rhetorical question.

I feel my focus drift away from the sound of his voice and I can do nothing to stop it. His speech grows more frantic. I make every effort to stay with him, but I can’t. I slip away into darkness, my last thoughts of him. _Don’t leave me… please be there when I wake… be there and be real…_

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

This time, when I wake, it’s still dark, but it’s a solid kind of darkness, warm and stuffy. The sweet smell of sickness pervades the space I inhabit. I can’t seem to move and it’s only the fact that I can flutter my eyelids that keeps me sane. If I could, I would feel around myself, trying to find the walls. Making sure they are as far away as they will go.

Cold sweat covers my brow. I’m scared. Afraid of the dark and of what might hide in it, afraid that I lost my way somehow. What if this isn’t real, what if… but then I hear it – barely audible over the frantic hammering of my heart – the sound of Al’s breathing as he sleeps. With everything I thought I’d heard in my sarcophagus over the years, his breathing was never among the things my mind created. 

Sometimes when I lie awake at night, unable to sleep despite our earlier activities, I watch him. I try to burn every ridge of muscle, every hair and every scar into my memory, so that I may use those images and reassemble him to perfection even in my dreams. I listen to him breathe and watch him move restlessly. Eventually he’ll seek the warmth of my body and snuggle close, putting an end to my reverie; somehow I never seem to mind and it’s never long before I join him in sleep.

I struggle to stay awake. I want to see him, to be reassured that it is him who found me, like he always does. I try to say his name but the only sound coming out of my mouth is a distorted and hoarse croak. I’m too weak to try again, but that tiny sound startles him. His breathing changes audibly to a more excited or worried pattern. I can hear him fumble for something and finally I see him. His face is lit by the bright glow at the end of his wand. To me it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

He walks over to me and props me up on some pillows and now I see the chair he’s been sitting in, guarding me, leaving the entire space of our bed for me. He asks me if I need anything, but I still can’t speak. Al seems to suspect that I’m thirsty and helps me drink a few sips from a glass that waited on the bedside table.

I listen to him tell me how worried he was. I smile when he scolds me and that makes him scold me even more. But now he’s smiling too. My eyelids fall shut again and he grows quiet. His hand strokes my face affectionately. Warmth is radiating off him as he draws closer and kisses my forehead. I want him to stay with me forever, reassuring and solid.

“Rest now. I’ll be here, waiting.” Al squeezes my hand once and then he is gone. The sound of a chair creaking under his weight informs me that he’s keeping his promise and waiting for me. I can feel him watching me and this time I’m not afraid. I allow myself to let go, just a little bit, because I know he will be here when I wake. I’m safe while he’s watching over me. At last, I sleep.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

Many weeks have passed since I got shot. Winter is here now and we hardly go out anymore. Snow is piling up high on the roofs and streets of the city we’ve moved into since our last change of campsite. There are enough abandoned houses here for each family to have one of their own. We are growing into a real community in this place. It’s thankfully a far cry from the union of convenience we originally started out as. Christmas has come and gone, or what counts for that in these dire times. New Years’ Day was the first day I went without a crutch. Like a cliché really, but so many things are these days that we can’t be picky.

It took many procedures to remove the shards of metal from my leg. Without Rose’s exceptional potion skills I wouldn’t be here now. The wound got infected and I spent many days in delirium after they found me. Al stayed with me the entire time. To my delight he’s been letting me watch him practise. He’s got even better if that’s at all possible.

We’ve not been out on missions since I got injured. I know we both miss it. Life in the city is confined, no matter how often we tell ourselves that we’ve chosen freedom over conformity and secrecy. I see him standing by the window too often these days; he’s looking out at the falling snow with a strange expression I cannot seem to fathom. We’ve not talked much in all this time and it’s been too long since we got off together.

He’s excessively careful with me, as if I am made of glass and while it was sweet at first, I’ve recently come to regard it as degrading and annoying. 

Al is standing by the window again. The snow is reflecting the bright light of the full moon and I can clearly make out the scar where I marked him in the chamber. My father was right; we are all marked in some way. Our past is what defines us, but it’s our choices that make us who we can still become. I walk towards him, the sound of my bare feet silenced by the thick carpet that keeps out the cold. I wrap my arms around him from behind and he leans into me. I deliberately press a kiss to the scar at his neck, tracing its shape with my tongue to make him shiver. He turns around in my arms then, the same fire burning in his eyes that is threatening to devour my entire being. This is my choice, he is.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

I twist and tug frantically, but the restraints hold. Al’s hands run up and down my torso. I’m wet with perspiration. His ministrations make me arch into his every touch. The fabric of the blindfold feels like a caress against my skin. I’m both terrified and aroused. Al’s tongue against my skin has me writhing and moaning. He’s savouring every inch of me and licking a trail along my throat, making me gasp.

“Yes, just like that,” he says and I turn my head, exposing more of my neck for him to explore.

Al traces my neck with his fingers and lets his hands slide into the hair at the back of my head. His grip tightens and he bends my neck as far back as it will go. His other hand rests against my throat and I swallow convulsively, feeling my Adams apple move against his fingers. Being unable to see has heightened my other senses and I feel like my skin’s on fire where he’s connected to it.

He kisses me but pulls back just out of reach when I try to reciprocate. I can feel his breath on my lips but he holds on to my head too tightly for me to close the distance between us. I try anyway. Al laughs and kisses me possessively. We are lapping and biting at each other more than kissing and it’s divine. The kiss is roughly broken as he tears my head back again. I can’t stop a disappointed whine from escaping me.

Al’s weight is suddenly gone. I strain my ears to try and figure out where he went. All is quiet around me; I can’t even hear him breathing. Oh, but he wouldn’t dare! He wouldn’t leave me like this; he promised! And just when I’m about to call out to him, his hands are back on my skin. I cry out when his nails rake across my torso sharp enough to break the skin. I welcome the pain. I am completely at his mercy and it makes me feel both terrified and alive. Another barrier falls behind me as I surrender myself to him completely. It’s the ultimate liberation of all that restrains me inside.

Warm breath ghosts over my left nipple and then his tongue is on me, licking my nipple and sucking it into his beautiful mouth until I’m writhing on the bed again. I push my chest against his face, trying to get closer, but he pushes me down and punishes me by biting down on it. I gasp in real pain this time. I don’t complain, I chose this and before I can regret my choice, he soothes the ache with his tongue. My nipple is probably red and standing at attention now, much like my cock, but Al has shown no intention of touching it so far.

The precome is dribbling onto my belly and I can feel the puddle growing larger quickly. I’ve been so focussed on my own prick that I’m completely taken by surprise when Al bites down where my shoulder joins my neck. I can tell right away that he has drawn blood. I feel ashamed as I hear my own wanton moaning at the sensation. Al chuckles darkly and attractively before lapping at the wound.

“You like it when I mark you, I always knew it!”

“Yes!” I hiss, unable to decide whether it’s because I agree with him – which I most certainly do – or whether it’s because he’s just got a hold of my cock and given it a rough stroke.

Al keeps stroking my cock leisurely; I try to thrust up into his fist, but again he holds me back.

“Not yet,” he whispers.

He’s lying half on top of me, his chest covering mine. I taste my own blood on his lips and tongue and I revel in it. Blood is dangerous around here which makes this even more exciting. I bite down on his lower lip hard until I break the skin and suck the steady dribble into my mouth, pushing my tongue against his. I know I’m being reckless but I can’t stop myself. I suck his tongue into my mouth, cleaning it of his blood and mixing it with my own. I swallow Al’s moans greedily. I’ll take anything he has to give and more.

Suddenly it’s not enough. It hasn’t been about the blindfold or the restraints for a while now and I want to touch him and see him in all his glory. I want to know what this is doing to him.

“Take it off, take it all off please,” I beg and Al immediately complies. Disregarding wishes has never been part of the games we play.

I blink at the sudden brightness but sit up immediately and drag Al into a bruising kiss. My blood and his has been smeared all over his lips and cheeks. He looks a bit like they do, after they feed, to me it makes him even more beautiful.

I release Al and move back, leaning against the headboard to which my wrists had been secured only a moment ago. Al follows me right away; he sits down with his knees on either side of my thighs and aligns our cocks. We both gasp at the feeling of his hand holding both of us tightly. He holds my gaze dreamily and traces the trickle of blood up my chest to its source with his forefinger before sucking it into his mouth. Al moans as he savours the flavour. I can’t decide what to look at, Al suckling on the single digit dripping with my blood – a single drop smearing the corner of his mouth – or the sight of both our cocks disappearing and reappearing in the tight circle of his hand.

Instinct makes its choice before I can and I crush our mouths together. Al is pushing against me on my lap. We are both close but this time this is not enough. I let my hands wander from his neck down his arms and onto the round cheeks of his buttocks. I squeeze them, pulling him closer for a moment, then I let my fingers wander on, trace his crack and he gets my drift.

Preparation is hurried because we are both too far gone to wait. When we finally come together it’s Al who’s biting at my lips, lapping and kissing my open mouth as we moan in unison and my hand on his prick, hurrying his climax along as he rides me.

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

Much later we still lie on our bed in a tangled heap of sweaty limbs but neither of us can be bothered to move. The wound on my neck has since been closed by a negligent healing spell. I’m staring at the ceiling thinking about what we just did. We’ve always liked it a bit rougher than what’s probably considered normal, but we’ve never taken it as far as we did tonight. What we did was reckless and dangerous, but I can’t find it in myself to regret it.

I turn to Al but his gaze is fixated on the new scar on my neck. The scar he put there and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I trust him with my life. These are truly dangerous times and if I could choose, he would always be the one whom I’d want to have my back. It’s time, I decide, to tell him about the darkness inside of me.

“Al?” His eyes return to mine and he can tell from my voice that I’m not about to suggest we do more wicked things to each other. “I have to tell you something.”

~.o.O.0.O.o.~

We live in a brave new world. It’s both magnificent and terrible, but we embrace it. We are the new generation. We know war lurks in the dark and still we walk the plank, arms outstretched and with eyes wide open. This is our choice and we choose life.

~Fin~


End file.
